


He Remembered

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5541386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John and Paul's first anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Remembered

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic from the LJ comm Beatlesslash.

He yawned, stretched, grimaced at the light shining through the curtains, rolled over, and found he was alone. He sighed, got up and padded to the loo.

Downstairs, put on the kettle, open the fridge door. Huh. Photograph of two guitars taped to the inside of the door. He pulled it off, looked at it for a minute – he knew those guitars – turned it over to see Paul’s handwriting on the back. 

_Love Me Do._

Daft git.

But the words took him back. 

They were at Paul’s, sitting on the couch face-to-face, writing. The words on bits of paper scattered around them. The music flowing from the two guitars. Laughing at something stupid one of them had said or done. Then, somehow, nothing was funny. Somehow, they were staring into each other’s eyes. Somehow, and he’ll never know what happened, exactly, neither one of them remembers exactly, instead of eye to eye they were lip to lip. The kiss was short, the embarrassed grins seemed to go on for ever.

It was the first time.

He smiled, made some tea and toast, got dressed and headed to the studio.

Paul and George were already there when he got there. They exchanged morning pleasantries, he winked at Paul who grinned back, and he sat down to get to work.

Opened the guitar case, and there was another picture. This time, a postcard from the seashore. Turned it over. On the back, same handwriting, _Do You Want To Know A Secret_.

He looked at Paul, but he, very carefully, was tuning his bass.

He remembered. 

They’d decided the only thing for it was to go away somewhere overnight. This snogging in dark corners was all very well, but they both wanted, needed, something more. So, off they went to the seashore. Just a little trip to unwind, they’d told the others. Need a little fresh air, get out of London.

And off they’d gone, like giddy little schoolboys, laughing at everyone and everything, eating taffy and ice lollies and paddling in the waves. They’d gone swimming at one point, eyeing each other in bathing trunks with a little more than casual interest.

Then it was off to the lodgings for the night, one grotty little room, two small beds which they’d pushed together. And then, finally, they’d faced each other. Mouths met, tongues swirling, tasting; hands on buttons and zips; pulling at the clothing, desperate for skin on skin. 

He remembered the thrill, the shiver, the first time he’d held Paul’s erection in his hands, the first time Paul’s hands had held his. 

Hands, at first. Later, mouths. Later still Paul had, hesitantly at first but with increasing boldness, entered him. They’d cried out together in the dark, shouts of love.

And in the morning, the first song they’d written together naked.

He coughed, adjusted the guitar in his lap, both to make room for and to hide his growing erection. He looked up at Paul again, who looked back with a smirk, knowing exactly what was going on behind that guitar.

Bastard.

Ringo arrived then, and the session got underway. Work occupied his thoughts for the rest of the day. At one point, Cynthia called to say she’d decided to stay at her mum’s another couple of days. He’d met Paul’s eyes, then, and they’d both smiled.

Paul and Ringo left early, both claiming errands to run. He and George stayed behind to work out some chords. Finally, he packed up his guitar and headed home. Got into the car, found another picture taped to the dash. This one, a mutual favourite, taken at a party. The two of them deep in conversation, ignoring the swirl of people around them, caught up in their own little world. 

On the back, _P.S. I Love You_.

He remembered.

The party, one of many they were getting invited to regularly, was, by all accounts, great. Lots of music, birds, booze. He couldn’t remember it. Just remembered that he and Paul only had eyes for each other. Cyn was away (bless the girl, so close to her mother) and they knew they had the whole night together, a rarity when they weren’t on the road. All they wanted to do was be together, but they had to go to this party. Must have been given by one of the suits, he thought now. 

Anyway, they’d ignored everyone else, talked only to each other. Talked about life, about love, about politics and history and religion and music. About everything, the way they always could.

Then, finally, released from social obligations they’d headed home together. Inside the door Paul had turned to him, looked into his eyes, and, very carefully, very seriously, no joking at all, said, “I love you.”

It was the first time.

He started up the car and drove home, saw Paul’s car parked down the block, smiled in anticipation. Opening the front door he found the way into the hall blocked by the huge bouquet of flowers on the hall table.

The card read, “To My Beautiful Boy. Happy Anniversary. I Love You. Paul.”

“Paul? Where are you?”

“Up here.”

He ran up the stairs, opened the bedroom door, found Paul lying under the sheets.

“Thank you. For today, for the pictures, the memories. Has it really been a year?”

Paul nodded. “Do you want your present now?”

“Presents too? You’re too bloody good for me, you know.”

“I know. Do you want it or not?”

“Yes, please.”

With a flourish, Paul pulled off the sheet to reveal his naked body, complete with growing erection tied with a big red ribbon.

John laughed. “Silly sod.”

Then he walked over to the bed, leaned down and kissed Paul thoroughly.

“I love you too, you know. I may not remember anniversaries and I may not say it often enough but I love you with everything I’ve got.”

“I know. Now, are you going to unwrap your present or not?”

With a growl and a laugh, John knelt down to do just that.


End file.
